


Sometimes Ordinary Is A Good Thing

by shelny18



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Kissing, M/M, R Ship Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 11:57:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shelny18/pseuds/shelny18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all mistakes end up badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes Ordinary Is A Good Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlounderTech](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlounderTech/gifts).



When Grantaire and Combeferre first kissed there were no sparks, no fireworks. The world did not fade away around them the way it had when Enjolras had first kissed Grantaire. Instead there was just two students standing in the middle of a surprisingly empty kitchen during an archery society social turned house party who surprised each other and themselves by leaning forwards and locking lips. It was, if they were honest, exceedingly ordinary.

Except it wasn’t.

They’d barely parted when Grantaire paled and cursed, Combeferre already flushed red and apologising profusely.

“I gotta go,” Grantaire muttered, interrupting the other student as he pushed past him, practically running for the front door. Combeferre was left standing there alone, party still going on around him as he watched his friend leave, wondering what on Earth he was meant to do now.

* * *

Going home that night was difficult, lying down next to Courfeyrac even harder. As he stared at the black ceiling Combeferre wondered idly if Grantaire was having the same problems at his own flat, had the same feelings of guilt running through his veins, or if he was already trying to forget Combeferre with the unknowing help of Enjolras. Forcing the artist to the back of his mind Combeferre rolled over and wrapped his arms round his sleeping boyfriend, eventually managing to drift off into a trouble sleep two hours later.

When Courfeyrac woke him up next morning with coffee and a kiss the guilt flooded him again though, and Combeferre quickly put the mug to one side and pulled the other man closer, kissing him hard, as if to prove to himself that he did still love the brunette, that nothing had changed in the past twenty four hours. Courfeyrac was surprised but didn’t complain, happily sliding under the covers to wake Combeferre up properly.

* * *

The phone rang bare minutes after Courfeyrac had left for lecture and Combeferre stared at the name for a moment before answering.

“Hello.”

“Dude what the fuck happened last night? Because my head hurts like a bitch and Enjolras is giving me disapproving looks because our kitchen looks like a bottle bank we have so many empties in here and shit must really have gone down for me to have drunk this much. It’s not like I can ask anyone else, we’re the only two do archery, so please tell me you know what I did.”

“Are you sat down?” Combeferre asked quietly, waiting for the affirmation before continuing. “We were talking, I don’t remember what about, and then we kind of kissed. Then you ran out.”

“…Tell me you’re joking.” There was a dangerous tone to Grantaire’s voice and Combeferre slowly sank down onto the sofa, his own voice numb as he spoke again.

“I wish I could.”

“But I love him.” Grantaire sounded so devastated that Combeferre wanted to reach through the phone and comfort him, even though he knew nothing would work, not with this. He knew exactly how the other man felt. “I love him ‘Ferre, I wouldn’t do that to him. Not to him.”

“I know.” He knew his words meant nothing. “Hell, you think I would want to do this to Courf? You’re not the only one in love.” He sighed. “It was nothing Grantaire. Just a drunken mistake on both our parts, one which for the sake of our relationships must be forgotten. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

* * *

Combeferre tried to live by his own words but found himself struggling, for reasons he couldn’t understand. He still loved Courfeyrac, he wouldn’t stay with him if he didn’t, but Grantaire kept leaping to the front of his mind at random moments, successfully distracting him every time. He could feel himself starting to distance himself from Courfeyrac, only in small ways but one which were enough, as one night Courfeyrac didn’t come home. When he did arrive back it was late the following day, just before they were due to head out for Enjolras’s birthday. Combeferre was ready to leave, sat waiting for his boyfriend on the sofa, a small frown creasing his forehead as he started to worry about where Courfeyrac might be. He was never this late home when staying over with a friend, or would at least ring to let Combeferre know where he was.

When the brunette finally walked in Combeferre jumped to his feet and hugged him, so relieved he at first barely noticed that Courfeyrac didn’t respond.

“Where’ve you been? I was about to start ringing everyone to see if they’d seen you.”

It was as Combeferre was pulling back, still waiting for a reply, that he noticed the mark on Courfeyrac’s neck.

“Um, Courf?” he asked quietly, knowing instantly but needing to hear it out loud. “What’s that?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” Courfeyrac practically snapped, shocking Combeferre, who had never heard the friendly student utter a harsh word against a friend before, and certainly never to him. “When the fuck were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Combeferre said automatically, fearing the words he knew were about to be said.

“About you and Grantaire!” When Combeferre made no move to deny anything Courfeyrac threw his hands in the air. “What the actual fuck ‘Ferre? I thought we had something! I certainly never thought you’d fucking cheat on me with one of our friends, and our best friend’s boyfriend!”

“We do!” Combeferre protested. “It was one stupid kiss, that’s it. One drunken kiss which we both regretted instantly and agreed to never mention again, because we were both in love and happy with who we were with. We didn’t want to end up together or change anything.”

“Except you did change things,” he retorted. “You pushed me away, started making up excuses as to why you were too busy for us to go out on dates, spent less and less time with me. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“It’s our final year of university Courf, of course I’ve been busy! I want to actually pass this thing.” Combeferre’s eyes were once again drawn to the red mark so bright against the pale of Courfeyrac’s neck. “I’m sorry about not spending enough time with you, I really am, but that is no fucking excuse for you to fuck someone else. You have a go at me for one fucking kiss, yet last night.” He reached over and touched the mark, causing Courfeyrac to swallow lightly, clearly ashamed with himself. “Why?”

“Because I bumped into someone from archery and they expressed their surprise at us still being together,” he said softly. “So I made them explain why. When they did… I got drunk. Blindingly drunk. I think more drunk than even Grantaire or Bahorel have ever been. It was get drunk or scream at you, and I couldn’t face a fight. I don’t remember anything past eleven, but I woke up in someone’s bed and you have no idea how sorry I am but you fucking remember kissing him, you weren’t even that drunk that night, I fucking well remember it ‘Ferre, I remember you coming home and you weren’t that drunk. I never meant for last night to happen, I swear, I would never knowingly cheat on you because I fucking love you, but you kissed our friend. You’re far from innocent yourself.”

“There is a difference,” Combeferre replied, eyes tired as he looked at his boyfriend. “I would never sleep with anyone else. No matter how drunk or upset I was, I would never ever sleep with anyone else. Not while with you, or anyone in fact. That night, the second I realised what had happened I regretted it. To mention it would mean hurting you and Enjolras and Grantaire so I didn’t.” He took a deep breath. “I love you Courf, but I can’t do this. Not after this. Not knowing you slept with someone. I’m sorry.” Brushing past the silent man he hurried out of the flat.

Combeferre set off as soon as the engine had started, blinking away the tears until he was parked outside Enjolras’s building, only then allowing the tears to start and his head to fall against the wheel as he tried desperately to compose himself enough to go inside. Eventually he managed it and he walked slowly up the stairs, wiping his eyes to try and make them presentable as he did so.

A “sorry I’m late” jumped to his lips as he pushed open the door, everyone simply nodding a welcome as they continued their conversations, Enjolras flashing a quick smile from where he was clearly debating with Feuilly, regardless of how this was supposed to be a party.

“Where’s Courf?” Jehan inquired lightly from his perch on Joly’s knee. That was all it took for the waterworks to start again, Combeferre unable to stop them as he suddenly became the centre of attention.

“’Ferre? Are you okay?” Grantaire was stood in front of him, hands on his shoulders and a worried frown on his face as he looked at the crying student. Combeferre barely moved his head but Grantaire still noticed the shake, instantly starting to lead him towards the bedroom. “I got this,” Combeferre heard him murmur as Enjolras stepped up. “You enjoy your birthday, I’ll make sure he’s okay.” Closing the door behind him Grantaire waited until Combeferre was seated on the edge of the bed before asking, “So what’s up? Why isn’t Courf here?”

“We split up,” Combeferre whispered, staring at a spot on the floor. “I told him I couldn’t do it anymore. He slept with someone else. He found out about the kiss so slept with someone else. Oh my God he slept with someone else and it’s my fault.”

Next thing he knew he was in Grantaire’s arms, the artist on his knees in front of him as the sobs ripped their way through Combeferre, his face buried in Grantaire’s shoulder as he hugged him back tightly.

The kiss, when it happened, was not unexpected but neither let it last long.

“Sorry,” Combeferre mumbled, head once again falling to rest on Grantaire’s shoulder. “I’m not really thinking right now.”

“It’s okay,” Grantaire soothed, stroking Combeferre’s hair back gently as he sat beside him and pulled him into his arms again. “It’s not just you.” And what did that say about him, he wondered, that he couldn’t even comfort Combeferre without ending up kissing him again, and in the bedroom he shared with his boyfriend no less. “Only, you know, me and Enj. This can’t keep happening ‘Ferre. And I mean that to both of us. We can’t keep doing this. Because maybe this is only the second time, but then again it’s the second time. It should never even have happened once, not whilst we were dating other people.”

“I know.” Combeferre shrugged helplessly. “You think I don’t know that? God, today was why this should never have happened. I love him.” That only made the tears start again.

Once he’d managed to calm down Grantaire stood, looking down on him. “Get some sleep,” he advised. “You’ll need somewhere to stay tonight anyway, so stay here. I’ll tell the others you split up but not give reasons why. We’ll talk about this properly another time.”

* * *

Heading back out into the flat Grantaire was instantly the centre of attention, bombarded with questions from all sides.

“Is he okay?”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“It must be serious, ‘Ferre never gets this upset.”

“’Taire?”

Grantaire looked up at Enjolras as he stood beside him, worried frown on his face and hand slipped into his.

“They broke up,” he said, just loud enough for everyone to hear. “I told him to try and get some sleep, and that he could stay here tonight if that’s okay.” He directed the last bit at Enjolras who nodded instantly.

“Of course.”

“But why?” Jehan put forward the question they were all thinking.

“It’s Courf,” Grantaire said with a shrug, refusing to elaborate anymore.

The party broke up soon after, none of the friends in a party mood anymore. Grantaire had to flat out order Bahorel and Jehan not to go have a word with Courfeyrac, simply saying “he’ll be feeling bad enough right now,” to persuade them.

“Give me the full reason,” Enjolras demanded once everyone had left.

“Courfeyrac cheated on him.”

“But… why?” The blonde was stunned.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Grantaire lied. “He didn’t say, just blamed himself.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Enjolras growled.

“Yeah it is, but you are not going to have “a word” with Courfeyrac either. I mean it Enjolras.”

* * *

Combeferre didn’t go home the next day, simply texted Courfeyrac telling him he’d find somewhere else to stay for the rest of term. With that done he turned his phone off, still ignoring every text and missed call he’d received, and headed for Jehan’s.

“Can I stay for a while?” he asked when the door was opened, too tired to want to waste any time.

“Of course,” Jehan said immediately, opening the door wider. “I spend most of my time at Joly’s anyways so you can pretty much have this place to yourself.” He looked over at Combeferre knowingly. “Would you like a couple of us to collect your things as well?”

“I can manage it,” he said, shaking his head as he spoke.

“If you can’t, for any reason, tell me,” Jehan said firmly.

“Thank you,” he whispered, hugging Jehan tightly.

“It’s the least we can do.”

* * *

The group was never happy with the fact that neither man would tell them the truth about what had happened, not when they’d seen the state both men had been in, but it didn’t take them long to guess that Enjolras knew. His glares during meetings were almost enough to kill and he snapped back a retort almost every time Courfeyrac opened his mouth, even if he agreed with what was being said, to the point where Courfeyrac stopped attending for a couple of months. Combeferre couldn’t deny he was glad for the time to sort his head out, to the point where when Courfeyrac returned he could actually manage a greeting to the other man, but at the same time he wished nothing had changed in the group. Once he was back he still avoided Courfeyrac, not wanting to reopen any old wounds, and he couldn’t help but remember his conversations with Enjolras back when they were both single, on whether it was really sensible to date a good friend, especially in such a close knit group, or whether it would just ruin everything when things ended.

True to his word Jehan practically lived with his boyfriend and so Combeferre found himself with a lot of time alone, something he was no longer used to after sharing a flat with first both Courfeyrac and Enjolras and then just Courfeyrac. If he were honest it was something he quite enjoyed, being able to come home and do what he wanted, eat what he wanted, listen to what he wanted without having to think of anyone else.

Living alone was definitely a benefit when the knocking came one night and Combeferre opened the door to see Grantaire swaying there drunkenly.

“We had a fight,” he mumbled as Combeferre pulled him into the flat and over to the sofa. Combeferre sighed, having been expecting it for a while. The cycle was a fairly constant one, starting with Grantaire drinking a bit more so Enjolras making snipey comments about it, which in turn led to Grantaire drinking yet more and interrupting meetings more often, until finally one or both of them snapped and the shouting began. If Enjolras’s neighbours were to be believed their arguments were generally explosive and always followed by first angry sex then make-up sex, something which apparently the apartment walls were too thin for. The fact that Grantaire was sat in Combeferre’s flat did not bode well for the two men and their relationship.

“Sleep,” he insisted firmly, pushing at the drunk’s shoulder until he was lying down, only then going and finding a bucket to put beside him. When he returned he was pleased to find the other man already asleep, curled around one of the cushions. Combeferre spent the night sat on the floor by his side, dozing occasionally as he kept an eye on him.

Next morning when Grantaire awoke it was with mumbled apologies and much swearing when he tried to move, followed by mumbled thanks when Combeferre wordlessly handed over water and painkillers.

He gave Grantaire an hour to become alive before starting the talk.

“How bad was it?” Combeferre was expecting the worst.

“About normal.”

“Then why are you here instead of at home? Your normal generally isn’t bad enough for you to storm out.”

Grantaire rubbed at his face wearily. “I think I finally realised I don’t want this. I don’t want the fighting and the screaming and the fucking. I love him, I will always love him, but I don’t want what we have. I want a relationship where we don’t argue almost constantly, where we can manage more than a few weeks without arguing. Not a relationship where over half our sex stems from fights but where we make love. Someone who doesn’t try to change me but accepts who I am, faults and all. Hell, I fucking need that. And I think I finally realised I’m never going to get that from Enjolras.”

“Does he know you’ve decided this?” Combeferre asked quietly. Grantaire shook his head, wincing as he did so. Combeferre said nothing, just handed him another glass of water.

“I know I know, I need to. I just… couldn’t face going back whilst that drunk. It would just have sparked another argument.”

As Combeferre moved up to sit on the sofa next to Grantaire he wrapped an arm round his friend’s shoulders, giving the comfort he knew the artist needed. They’d been sat there in companionable silence for about half an hour, Grantaire’s head resting against Combeferre’s chest, when the brunette shifted, leaning up and kissing Combeferre softly.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Go talk to Enjolras,” Combeferre said firmly, standing up and moving away before he was tempted to kiss back. “And if you need somewhere to stay afterwards-”

“I will ring Bahorel,” Grantaire interrupted.

“The offer is always open,” he told him.

“I know.”

* * *

The text came through two hours later.

**Grantaire:** _Turns out I may need a place to crash after all, Bahorel is away for the weekend._

Combeferre shot off a quick text to Jehan, smiling when permission was messaged back.

**Combeferre:** _Come on over, or do you need a hand with stuff?_

**Grantaire:** _…I can’t face going back in yet. I’ll be there soon._

* * *

Nothing was said about the matter until that night, when Grantaire finally sighed and looked over at Combeferre.

“Thank you for this,” he said honestly. “I don’t know where I’d have gone otherwise. Courf maybe, but none of us are quite as close to him anymore.” He smiled ruefully. “I really wouldn’t want to end up on the streets again.”

“Never again,” Combeferre vowed, remembering how Grantaire had looked when they’d first met at sixteen, before Bahorel had taken him in, the matted curls and almost skeletal fingers, every penny he had going towards alcohol and art. Grantaire had sworn back then he would never be able to pay the group back for their help in getting him back into college and then onto university instead of allowing him to fall further. “You stay here as long as you need, okay? Jehan’s never here anyways, so there’s always a spare bed, and even if he is there’s the sofa.” He paused. “How did Enjolras take it?”

“He begged me to stay,” Grantaire said reluctantly, glancing away at his hands. “Promised he’d change, told me he loved me, asked for a second chance.”

“Everything you’d expect then,” Combeferre said softly, remembering the dead look in Courfeyrac’s eyes when he’d returned to their flat for his belongings, how he’d wished the other man would say something, anything, instead of just sitting there silently as Combeferre packed around him. That was when he’d known it was truly over.

“I can’t stay with him,” he sighed. “I just can’t.”

For the second time that day Combeferre drew the artist into a hug, both taking comfort in the action. When they moved to part they found themselves far too close and, once again, Grantaire closed the small gap between them, kissing him and, this time, Combeferre responded, before pulling back and shaking his head.

“No,” Combeferre said firmly. “Now is not the time for this ‘Taire. How much of you wanted to stay with Enjolras?”

“A lot,” he confessed.

“And that is exactly why we aren’t doing this. You’re still in love with him, if I’m honest with myself I’m not over Courfeyrac, and we both just want comfort. That isn’t the sort of thing that will last Grantaire, and will hurt Enjolras almost as much as you leaving like this. You know I’m right.”

“You always are,” Grantaire bit back, but it was with a small smile.

* * *

The pair grew used to living together until finally they found it strange to spend any length of time apart, Combeferre working more easily with Grantaire’s surprisingly soft singing in the background and Grantaire constantly taking inspiration from Combeferre’s philosophical comments in his paintings. Combeferre made sure Grantaire remembered to eat whilst Grantaire bugged him until he went to sleep at a sensible time, and both reminded the other to actually take a break occasionally instead of working until they practically dropped from exhaustion.

Grantaire avoided Les Amis meetings for a few weeks after the break up and Combeferre would pass on messages when he returned home, though he made sure to leave out several of Enjolras’s. The split had hurt the blonde deeply, to the point where it took him a fortnight to be able to mention his name again, and even when Grantaire returned to the Musain all Enjolras could do was shoot him looks and continue to give messages to Combeferre.

It had been four months since Enjolras and Grantaire had split up, nine since himself and Courfeyrac, and he was starting to see things more clearly. His relationship with Courfeyrac had never been going to last, he knew this now. Courfeyrac was a flirt, he’d encouraged Combeferre to live on the wild side a little more, had pulled him out of his books and into the real world. Their relationship had been exciting and different to Combeferre, but he knew now that it hadn’t been love. If it had, they wouldn’t have ended the way they had. If it had, at least one of them would have fought for it to continue.

Enjolras and Grantaire weren’t much different. Their love had been fiery, full of sexual tension and dramatics, but Combeferre had watched it burning them both up. When times were good between them Enjolras was more relaxed, healthier, but the times in between he was more stressed than ever, spending more and more time working and less and less actually with Grantaire. Grantaire wasn’t much different. His love was almost obsessive, taking over every aspect of his life, to the point where whenever things blew up between them he found himself in yet another downwards spiral, drinking more and more each time to the point where the friends had been worried for his life, never mind his health. It had never been going to end well between them.

He wasn’t sure when things changed but one day he realised it: Grantaire meant more than a friend to him. He was the constant in his life which Combeferre needed, and he knew he was the steadiness Grantaire needed just as much, that there were nights when he’d kept the artist from drinking too much. In his mind, it would work.

However, he had no idea how the brunette felt, it had been many months since the third and last kiss and neither of them mentioned any of those moments, and so he feared Grantaire didn’t view him in that way, that he really had only been seeking comfort before.

Then came the week when Grantaire was away with his course and Combeferre did not manage well. He constantly made too much food, unused to feeding only himself, he forgot to sleep because no-one was there to push him out of the lounge and into his room, he couldn’t concentrate in the silence the flat was now in, missing the constant murmurings of the artist.

By the end of the week, Combeferre’s mind was made up.

The afternoon Grantaire returned Combeferre made sure he was out of lecture in good time and home before Grantaire was due to arrive, putting on a nice dinner and even tidying the table ready for its first use in seven weeks. As the artist made his way through the door, dropping his bag down next to the sofa before turning to face his flatmate, Combeferre surprised him by pulling him into a quick kiss.

“Um, hello,” Grantaire mumbled in shock, blinking tiredly up at Combeferre. “It’s good to see you too.”

“How was your week?” Combeferre asked with a small smile.

“Busy.” Grantaire couldn’t quite hide his yawn. “And tiring. I need sleep.” Patting Combeferre’s cheek softly he staggered past him, clearly already dead to the world as he entered his room and collapsed onto the bed. He was snoring within minutes.

Combeferre couldn’t help the feeling of disappointment he felt inside. Surely if he felt anything he’d have kissed me back or stayed up a few minutes longer at least without falling asleep, he thought sadly, resigned to staying just friends. He just hoped he hadn’t messed anything up between them through that kiss.

* * *

Next morning Grantaire was still asleep when Combeferre woke up and he sighed, sticking the coffee on in the hopes the smell would draw out the artist. As always it worked and Grantaire staggered through, still half-asleep, dressed only in his boxers and with hair sticking up in every direction, but awake.

“You have lecture in two hours,” Combeferre reminded him, placing their largest mug down in front of him. “History of Art, so you might want to at least attempt to wake up first.”

“Mmm,” Grantaire agreed without listening, swearing when moments later he gulped at the scolding hot coffee without giving it a chance to cool down first, same as he did every morning.

“And you’re an idiot,” Combeferre added on, almost fondly. As he went back to making his own breakfast he realised Grantaire was watching him and glanced over his shoulder, noticing the appraising look he was being given. “What?” he asked, flushing slightly.

“You kissed me yesterday,” Grantaire said thoughtfully.

“Um yes, yes I did.”

“Hmm.” Picking up the mug Grantaire wandered back through to his room, leaving Combeferre standing there, wondering just what exactly was going on.

An hour later Grantaire reappeared, fully dressed this time and having attempted to tame his curls. Combeferre looked up from his book just in time for Grantaire to lean down and kiss him hard, a hand fisting in the normally neat hair as their mouths moved together.

“See you after lecture,” Grantaire smirked, quickly making his way out of the flat and leaving Combeferre sat there, completely shellshocked.

* * *

**Grantaire:** _Meet me at the Arts Hall at 3? My lecture finishes then._

**Combeferre:** _I’ll be there._

* * *

Grantaire didn’t mention either kiss when Combeferre arrived, simply started walking and talking about the gothic architecture he’d learnt about that afternoon. Combeferre accompanied him to a small café, heading inside curiously when Grantaire held the door open for him.

Inside he couldn’t help but gasp. The walls were covered in huge bookshelves full of thousands of old books, and there was a sign by an old spiral staircase saying “Books this way”.

“Meet the only bookshop café in town,” Grantaire grinned, clearly enjoying the look of wonder on Combeferre’s face. “It seemed a suitable place for a first date.”

Combeferre span round to face him, hand coming up to touch his cheek softly. “You want to do this then?” he murmured.

“’Ferre, we’ve been living together for four months,” Grantaire said patiently. “For the past two I’ve been tempted to kiss you again. If I’m honest, I’ve been thinking about it ever since the first time we kissed. I know for definite I’m over Enjolras. Yeah I still have feelings, but I’m never going back. And this past week… I missed you. A lot.” He shrugged. “So yeah. I really want to do this. You are a heck of a lot more than just a friend ‘Ferre.”

Stepping forwards Combeferre didn’t reply but kissed him. Whereas their previous kisses had been hard and fast or full of comfort and pain, this one was neither. This kiss was sweet and loving, filled with everything their friendship was and a need for all they wanted it to become. When they broke apart they heard the wolf whistle and realised everyone in the café was watching them. Combeferre chuckled as Grantaire turned a delicate shade of pink and reached down, threading his fingers through his boyfriend’s.

“Let’s get a drink,” he said softly.


End file.
